Weak Petals
by Restitutor Orbis
Summary: Violet is sick. The CH Postal Company is there to make her feel better.


**AN:** **This is my first time writing a Violet Evergarden fanfic, so I hoped I didn't butcher any characters - specifically Violet's. I was wondering if Violet was ever sick - since you know, living in a lice infected camp in a place inspired by the Victorian Age/Early 20th century is not the cleanest of conditions, especially during a war. I imagine she saw other soldiers get ill, but never herself, I imagine that she has a stronger constitution than most people do, so I wanted to write a little fic about that. It's not one of my best, but I tried.**

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 _Weak Petals_

By: Restitutor Orbis

Based on: _Violet Evergarden_

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Violet released a throat-cutting cough, tugging the blanket closer to her chest and mouth.

"Violet, dear," Cattleya said, resting a steaming bowl of chicken soup on her desk, "I brought you some soup."

Violet glanced at the steaming bowl, throating itching and head pounding. "I am fine, madam." She sneezed, and then cough, and the progress began again. "Who made that?"

Cattleya smiled, placing a delicate hand on top of Violet's burning forehead. "Violet, you're not fooling anyone. To answer your question, Iris and Erica did, though I had to step in once they started to fight on how to properly make it." She gently pushed away some of the strands of Violet's pale-golden hair. "Just rest, Violet, have some soup, and you'll be back to work in no time."

Violet wished to protest, but the coughing return and the pounding grew louder. "Understood." Her eyelids felt heavy, and her bed was uncharacteristically warm, luring her into a soft, gentle dream. She raised her eyes tiredly and began to recall how she even got here. She awoke with a pounding headache, a running noise, and shivers running her spine. She proceeded to work, however, but Iris, Erica, and Cattleya seemed to have noticed the drowsiness in her posture, and the gentle coughs and sneezes that Violet had tried to hold back. It had gotten to the point in which the President had to get involved, ordering her to go back to her bed to rest. She had argued against it, but the sneezing and coughing had stopped her, and she admitted a small defeat.

Cattleya left, not before giving Violet a small kiss on her forehead and a gentle squeeze of Violet's arm. She laid there, dressed in her nightwear clothing, staring up at the ceiling. She disliked this; this idea of illness that plagued her from doing her duties. She had letters to write, people's memories to convey, to deliver, but she was trapped in her room, bundled up like a babe.

A knock tore her from her thoughts, and Violet gave a weak command to enter. It was Luculia, Violet's friend, and close companion. The red-haired girl smiled at Violet, a basket covered with a pale-blue cloth hung from her arm. "Hello, Violet," she said, entering the room, and closing the door. "How are you feeling?"

"I am-" A sneezed interrupted her. "I am fine, Luculia. How are you?"

"Fine," she replied, walking and setting the basket onto Violet's desk. It was beginning to become crowded, with her books, typewriter, and now the bowl of soup that Cattleya brought and Luculia's basket. "I brought you some fruits." She clasped her hands together at the front of her waist. She smiled, and it was warm, comforting.

"I wish for you not become sick, Luculia. So please, do not come near me. Miss Cattleya said that it may be contentious." She released another sneeze, and the pounding grew like a dance of thunder and lightning.

Luculia smiled softly. "Have you ever been sick before, Violet?"

Violet shook her head. Surprisingly, Violet never fell ill when she was with the Major in the camps, despite the lice, and illness that clung to the air. Major Gilbert had simply assumed that Violet had a stronger constitution than most people and Violet had merely accepted it as fact. "This is my first time."

Luculia nodded, glancing at the metal hands that was folded onto Violet's chest. "Do you want some soup?" She grabbed the bowl, pulled out Violet's chair, and sat next to Violet's bed, ignoring her previous warning.

"I do not need it for rehydrating," Violet said.

Luculia released a gentle laugh. "Soup makes people feel better when they're sick, Violet." She placed it on her lap, smiling gently at her. She raised the silver spoon from the liquid. "Rise a little from your bed, Violet." She did. "And open up your mouth."

Violet did as she was commanded, and the liquid was pleasant, warm, and delightful to her taste buds. She swallowed, and for a moment, the soreness in her throat subsided. Then it returned, and Violet found this to be insufficient for improving someone's health and well-being. Violet had even stated it to Luculia, who laughed. She had stated that it would not instantly make Violet better, but Violet needed to eat when she was ill, and the soup was one of the better options. So, Violet took Luculia's word on it, and continued, enjoying the brief moments of peace whenever she swallowed the warm soup. By the time the soup was finished, Luculia informed her that she had to leave, she had a meaning with another recipient for a letter and left with a reassuring squeeze on her arm and a "get well" smile.

Violet found herself in her room alone, once more. She rested back into her bed, cuddling close to her blankets. The heaviness of her eyelids did not go away but seemed to only have grown when she was eating the delectable soup. Before she knew it, she was asleep, drawn by the warm feeling in her stomach and the warmth that surrounded her body.

She was awoken a few hours later by a clattering of metal. Violet turned to find President Hodgins picking up the empty bowel. "Sir?" She questioned wearily, voice thick with sleep. It had grown dark out, the silvery moonlight flowed into Violet's chambers, and a torch was lit, allowing the President's face to be illuminated softly with flickering lights.

Hodgkins jumped and glanced at Violet, who rose from her bed, lacking the typical grace that she usually displayed. Her bones felt tired, her throat was still sore, but at least the pounding had lessened considerably. "Oh, good morning, Violet, or well, good evening would be a better term." He laughed nervously. "How are you feeling?"

"I am well, sir." Violet placed her metal hands unto of her lap, holding back an itching cough that threatened to escape past her lips. She sniffed calmly.

Hodgins nodded, placed a hand on top of Violet's forehead, eyebrows furrowed. "You're still warm, but considerably less so than when I check on you this morning. So, that's good." He removed his hand, and smiled gently at her, the kindness in his eyes remained Violet of the major. It was scary how similar the two seemed to be. There were occasions when Violet would forget that Major Gilbert and former Lieutenant Colonel Hodgins were two separate people; Hodgins at times would have the same look and voice that sounded uncannily like the Major, they had the same twinkle in their eye whenever Violet did anything worth praising, even their office was the nearly the same, with the smell of old books and cigars, and expensive leather chairs.

"So, does that mean I am permitted to return to my duties, sir?"

Hodgins shook his head fondly. "No, not quite yet, Violet. I suspect by tomorrow you'll be able to return back to work, but that's only if you get some more rest, understood?"

Violet felt a quiet inch in her arm to salute the president, but she ignored it. It had been many months since the last time she had saluted Hodgins. They were no longer in the army, there was no need for any remnant military greeting. "I...understand, sir. I will take a few more hours of rest," she confirmed, nodding in agreement. In truth, she would have done anything to return back to work, being an Auto Memories Doll had almost become like a sanctuary, a school, and an occupation all rolled up into one. She found peace there, while also learning more about emotions and how to convey them properly.

Hodgins smiled. "Good. Glad to hear it, Violet." He picked up the basket that Luculia left. "I'll take this downstairs so they wouldn't go rotten."

"Understood, sir."

"Also, Violet." Hodgins raised his free hand and patted Violet's head, almost in a fatherly affection. "Get better, okay? I promise you'll be back to work in no time. Also, don't try to go to work if you don't feel well. It's understandable that you want to help people, but I feel like you're taking your sense of duty a little to far." He smiled, almost teasingly. "And if you don't, you'll be doing my taxes for the rest of the year, understood?"

"Oh, no," Violet said, "anything but that, sir." Her weak attempt of humor gave rise to a small grin on Hodgins face and a gentle chuckle.

"We'll see, Violet," he said, patting her head, gently. "Now, off to bed with you. I still got paperwork to do, and you have to get better."

"Understood, sir."

Before he departed, Hodgins leaned forward and kissed her forehead; warm and steady like Cattleya, but also firm, unlike the delicate peak of Violet's colleague. There seemed to be a difference between a man's touch and a woman's touch. Or perhaps it was simply the President's way of saying that he is there for her, as was everyone else, even if he was buried under the enormous amount of work that plagued his duties as president of the company. The firmness helped empathize it. He smiled down at her one last time, before leaving Violet's room, humming a gentle tune to himself.

Violet sat there on her bed, and once she heard the thundering steps of Hodgins disappear, she finally allowed a cough that had been itching her throat to suddenly be released. She sighed, sneezing for a brief moment, before tugging the blanket around her, pulling it over her head.

The warmth inclosed around her, the tiredness in her muscles and bones wane, and before Violet knew it, she was pulled back into her dreams, listening to the soft flickering of the candle on top of her desk and the soft whistling of the wind outside her room. She was grateful that her friends and colleagues had taken to care for her well-being.

She would have been pleased if she simply never got sick in the first place.


End file.
